Oh god! Nako's turned out a new chapter rather quickly, even though it is rather short. Well don't thank me I didn't even know what to do for this chapter, thought I'd written myself into a corner. My dear reviewer Rio actually solved that problem so everyone? Go thank Rio for this chapter and its speed and the fact that I didn't just abandon the story completely. I've got so many ideas I might even have another chapter by tomorrow if I don't find something better to do.
Rio, I laughed for a good five minutes after your review. :hug: Massively cool. Other than the part about taking me hostage. If you hold me hostage...how am I supposed to write?
Also, because she stalked me from the Sherlock Holmes section, shout out to Nekkyou Hiryuu who reminded me that I don't actually have school tomorrow meaning that as soon as I finish this author's note that I'm not going to work on my spider-man story, nor am I working on any of my other works, all instead I am working on this.
So for my addiction to writing this and my not abandoning it, you all know whom to thank.
After yelling at Erik, and still with that unexplained pain within me, I came back to my real life and found something that made me long for his harsh words and that stabbing pain that whispered of Christine.
The Petite Rats can hurt me as much as they like and I won't care, it doesn't really matter so long as I can still dance and its not going too far at all. But upon entrance into the changing rooms I found Jammes on the edge of a bench and huddled over herself, crying softly. Not as I had cried minutes before, those had been angry tears. The kind that burn hotly on your cheeks so you feel like your flesh in on fire. The kind that fan the flames within you somehow. Jammes was sad. Impossibly and utterly sad. The tears that accompany that are cool, soft, and silky, sliding down your cheeks as though your own body is trying to comfort you where no one else seems able.
I was at her side instantly, my arms around her shoulders and the confusion of my life tossed into the back of my mind for the moment. I realized she was holding something, not that I could tell what, and so I shushed her and cooed at her and tried to calm her down in any way I could figure. My fingers dragged through her hair and I tried to make her smile and I brushed away her tears, only to have her look up at me and move her hands so I could see what she held.
"I tried to stop them Meg, I really did. I told them that it wasn't fair that you worked so hard. I told them not to. I begged them not to." She was holding my ballet slippers. Only, they barely looked like my ballet slippers anymore. They had been slashed and torn until they were hardly anything at all. Even Jammes, with certainly more money than I had would have been able to aquire a new pair before the show opened tomorrow night. I wouldn't be able to dance. I wouldn't even be able to dance in the background with the other chorus girls...I took them from her slowly, running my fingers over the shredded material and remembering how long I had to save for such a nice pair. Suddenly, woken from my dream, I realized Jammes was crying still.
"Sush..." I whispered, dropping my shoes into my lap and turning to her once more. "It doesn't really matter anyway, they were fraying and I needed new shoes, this is just an excuse to actually buy a new pair." I was famous for sticking with a pair of shoes until I had no choice but to buy a new pair. That or stop dancing. "I don't care. I hurt my foot anyway so I would have had to turn down the part, I should have turned it over to A'Marie anyway." I promised her, brushing my fingers over her cool cheeks. Jammes was too compassionate for her own good, she never took sides and she always tried to make everyone feel better about anything wrong with their lives. She didn't need to worry about me on top of it all.
I talked with her for an hour, assuring her I was fine and even telling her my secret descision about the Baron and his latest preposal. She was so happy about that that her tears over my toe shoes were forgotten. In fact she even offered to share a cab home with me. She lived farther from the Opera House than I did so she would drop me on the way. She rushed off to get the cab and I took my shoes into my hands once more. Allowing a single sob to burst free of my mouth before I put them delicately in my cubby. I hadn't the slightlest idea of what could be done. I wouldn't be able to dance, that was sure. I supposed that unless I wanted to be fired and miss out on pay I would have to dip into the money I was saving for Maman. Not that I wanted to do that.
There was just nothing else to be done. I could take money from that fund now, and make more later, or I could leave what little was in there, lose this job...
Well it didn't really matter. When the Baron and I were married he would see to it that Maman was made well again and probably buy me pairs and pairs of toe shoes. I laughed at how silly I had been, though a few tears did burst free with that laugh, and closed the door behind me. I would have to get used to having money.having someone who could just make all my problems go away. Jammes was in the middle of where the audience sat as I came onto the stage and I jumped off, running to meet her as we rushed to her cab. She had the money for a private cab but she didn't keep it at the stables here so sometimes she just had to pay for one like everyone else. Well, everyone else who had money.
I planned that tomorrow I would relinquish my part, let the understudy take it over, and while everyone performed-because I would not be allowed in the performance there was no part for me-I would go out and buy a new pair. That was the plan and I even had money in my purse when I arrived at the Opera early the next morning. I opened my cupboard and looked for the tattered shoes. They were no where to be found. In their place was a perfect pair of shoes. a soft pink color that rivaled even the color of Sorelli's slippers and the ribbons were the same perfect pink, not a mismatched color like they were for my pair. I took them out with a terrified sort of reverance and learned that they fit better than I could have ever imagined.
Below them was a piece of parchment with familiar red writting. Familiar red writing I couldn't read.
I didn't trust even Jammes with it, unsure of what it could say since I knew it to be from Erik. I would have trusted my mother, but she couldn't read either. I supposed that even if it wasn't an apology, after such a nice gift I should apologize for the horrible things I said. I was stubborn but I was still a Catholic and I believed in apologizing. So, right then and there I made my way to the entrance Erik had shown me and I descended into the mirrored room. I had found that after several times of coming this way the mirrors no longer bothered me, no longer made me sick. I pressed on the door and pushed it open. "Erik?" I called softly. There was no answer but I heard the sound of an organ.
I had never much liked the sound of Organs but this song being played was beautiful. I could feel it rolling through me; the anger burned, the passion singed and the sorrow...was just below the surface, a pulsing, living thing desperate for freedom. For a long time I stood there just listening, and then I began to move, to follow the music and look for the artist would could call such beauty from such an ugly instrument. I found a door I hadn't gone through before and was met with a strange thing. I was in a funeral home, or at least something near enough to one. The walls were covered in a rich black material and there was a stand like what Monseiur Reyer used for his music. I could pick out some of the words to a Requiem Mass on it. I didn't hear many but when my father had died I had learned the words. I was unable to attend his funeral if I wanted money for Maman so I learned the Mass as best I could and replayed it in my head sometimes when I missed him. I liked to think he could hear me up in heaven.
Of course, I noticed all that on my second look around the room, my first look was stolen by what dominated the center of the room. There was a blood red canopy with fabric that could probably buy Maman and my's apartment building several times over, and still that was not what held my attention, though it was what caught it. Under the canopy was an open casket of the darkest wood I had ever seen. It was odd, and it held my attention, but it did not frighten me. I was actually wondering what my father's casket had looked like upon sight of this one.
The music around me swelled and there was a loud note that made me jump, jump and turn to see an organ that took up a whole wall. The keyboard was longer than my pallet at home and in front of this keyboard, almost dwarfed by it was Erik. I saw only his back but I didn't know who else would be down here. I stood at the door with my arms drawn up to my chest and my hands curled around eachother as though I were praying. Maybe I was.
The song was so sad and so passionate all at once. When it came to an end I ducked my head and said that it was very good. Erik's back stiffened but he did not turn to look at me. "You'd best be careful little Megan." The contrast of the two names startled me. As a child I had been Little Meg and, desperate to grow up, I now wished to be Megan. "There is some music which can consume a person, turn someone even as beautiful as you into something as ugly as me." He told me without looking at me. I wanted to ask if he really thought I was beautiful but he spoke again too quickly. "Have you come down here to mock this monster some more. I explained in the note I wanted no thanks." His hands slammed on the keyboard and he spun to look at me. I hung my head lower.
"I'm sorry. I didn't know." I whispered. Ashamed for being unable to read and ashamed that my attempt to make peace had obviously failed before it began.
"Just like a woman to ignore the note and just accept the gift." He growled. That got me angry as well as embarrassed.
"I would have read it if I could!" I shouted, then paused, and let my head hang again.
"You cannot read?" He asked, almost apologetic and almost confused, though I doubted his pride would let him be either.
"No. My father could, a little. He taught me my name and my numbers. And I can read a bit of latin from the masses at church." I told him, staring at my hands as they worried at the note I had brought with. "I came down to ask what it said." I paused, and glanced up through my bangs. "But I guess I know now." He walked over to me and pulled the note from me.
"I am sorry, I did not think." I was impressed, a little, and scared too. I didn't think men like him could apologize. So I supposed it was only fair...
"I am sorry too. I should never have said those terrible things, I don't think you're a monster. You're just mean sometimes, you let your anger get the best of you, but I'm the same way so I suppose that makes me worse."
"A monster and a hypocrite both apologizing to eachother." He whispered, laughing a little.
"What's a hypocrite?" I asked. He looked at me, and though I could not read the eye behind the mask, the one I could see furrowed with some emotion.
"I did not think it fair that you worked so hard for the part, only to have it snatched away by jealous girls who weren't willing to work as hard. That's why I gave you the slippers." He said, ignoring my question. Which was fine with me. I think the name was directed at me so I was sure it was an insult no worse than what I had called him.
"I take back what I said, they are very nice so you must know something of ballet." I told him, drawing another smile from him. I wondered, briefly, if Christine had ever made him smile. I dismissed the thought as soon as it appeared. "I also take back all the mean things I said to you. I shouldn't have said them."
"They were the truth."
"No. Well yes..." I sighed and squinted as though that way I would be able to see the point I was trying to make. "You are a monster, sometimes, but you're a man sometimes as well. You just need to decide, are you a monster or a man?" I sighed again when I was done speaking. "Or maybe decide that I'm crazy." I shook my head, sending blond hair scattering everywhere. "I'm a lunatic. I will leave." I assured him, turning to walk away.
"Why do you dance Megan?" He asked, startling me. I turned and tilted my head.
"Why? Well I suppose its not a noble reason-"
"I don't care if its noble or not I asked why you danced." He snapped, causing me to jump.
"Fine. I dance because I love it." And I cocked an eyebrow. If he wanted me to be brief I would be.
"Why?"
"When I dance I'm not stupid, silly little Meg Giry. I'm someone special. Besides its all I know how to do." I wanted to tell him I would pay him back for the shoes but I hadn't any time, he began to speak again.
"You could learn more."
"Oh yes, I could sing like Christine. No Monsieur, not even a teacher as good as you can teach me anything. All I know is dance and I don't even do it all that well." I told him.
"I think I will come tonight, what are you performing?" I should have been used to the erratic way he turned the conversation any way he wanted, but I wasn't and it still confused me a moment.
"Tristan und Isolde I told you that." I hated repeating myself. He nodded, hmmed to himself and then glanced to his watch.
"You'll be late if you don't hurry." I glanced around, couldn't find a clock and rushed off anyway, sure to recieve a scolding from the Mistress. I rushed into the mirrored room and scrambled up the familiar iron tree and through the trap-door-pressing the small button I would never have found if Erik did not show me-and then sped to the stage, grateful I was already in costume. Everyone looked up as I slid onto the stage and Mistress Ana looked me up and down.
"I didn't think you were going to show. Very well, take your place. A'Marie, you'll go back into the chorus if Megan is up to dancing." I nodded, surprised that anyone other than Jammes knew of my thought to drop out. But then again I supposed the girls who slashed my old slippers had told the teacher I would be unable to dance.
Jammes was at my side quickly, admiring the shoes. "Where did you get those? And on such short notice too, I was sure you wouldn't be able to be in the show after what those horrible girls did to your other pair." I smiled, a soft, secretive smile and shrugged.
"I suppose," I drawled, laughing inwardly, "that I just have a guardian angel looking out for me."
remeber, reviews are like cocaine to me, so drop me a few lines. Heh...get it? Lines like writing? But then cause reviews are like cocaine, lines of cocaine? Yeah I've watched too much Kill Bill and Pulp Fiction lately.
Oh and thanks also for those who've assured me that they don't mind I'm going by the book, I'm sure you all noticed how much I took from it for this chapter. Anyway, I was worried with so many stories based about the musical and movie that no one even read the book anymore. So thanks. Again. And for putting up with my horrible jokes.